


Playing With Fire

by AloeAloe



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Awkwardness, Hand Jobs, Humour, M/M, Marcone being Marcone and slaying it, More Warnings To Follow, Slash, The return of John’s magic fingers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-02-07 20:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21463732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AloeAloe/pseuds/AloeAloe
Summary: Lured into an unwise wager, Harry has two weeks to seduce none other than his worst enemy: Gentleman Johnny Marcone.  The path to true love never runs smooth however, and Harry is going to find himself wishing more than once that he’d told Thomas exactly where to stick his bet.
Relationships: Harry Dresden/Johnny Marcone
Comments: 26
Kudos: 102





	1. The Stakes are Set

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our hero makes an unwise wager, experiences the bitter taste of rejection and discovers an unlikely teacher.

“The very essence of romance is uncertainty.”Oscar Wilde

* * *

Heaven is a place on earth.To be more specific, heaven is a pub on earth: McAnally’s.Let’s be honest here, when choosing between pearly gates and a chorus of angels, a beer and one of Mac’s steak sandwiches wins every time.

I was sat with Thomas at a corner table.I had good company, good food and good beer and — for a guy who spends most of his life being nearly killed and eaten by more supernatural bad guys than you can shake a stick at — it was a pretty nice state of affairs.The ceiling fans hummed gently, probably doing something to dispel some of the lingering magic in the room, and the thrum of comfortable chatter filled the air.

I sat back in my chair and took another swig of my drink._Perfection_.

Some things, however, are simply too good to last.Happiness is fleeting, joy is a fickle friend and Thomas, my delightfully irritating brother, just had to go and spoil it.

“Hey,” he said, leaning forward, “don’t you think it’s about time you got laid?”

I choked and only narrowly avoiding spraying beer all over his pretty-boy face.Hell, it probably only would have made him look more attractive anyway. _B__astard_.

My brother’s eyes sparkled with wicked amusement, a smile tugging at his lips.He continued to speak as I sputtered.“It’s been a while, man,” he said.“As your big brother, it’s my job to look out for you.I’d never forgive myself if your ‘thing’ went and fell off from lack of use.”

Having finally recovered from my coughing fit, I tried to muster up as much wizardly dignity as I could (not a lot) and fixed him with a steely glare.“As much as I appreciate your concern, _asshole_, go and stalk someone else.My sex life is my business,” I growled.“And don’t talk about my dick — it’s weird.”

Thomas looked at me, expression blank.With a deliberate movement, he pointed a finger at his chest.“White Court Vampire,” he said.“I am a _literal_ sex demon.Talking about your dick is my equivalent of chatting about a day in the office.”

I pulled a face.“_Gross_.You’re my brother — any more talk about my wang and I’m out of here.”

He laughed and pulled back, raising his hands in an appeasing gesture.“Okay, okay,” he said.“No more dicks.Anyway, I had something else to talk to you about.”

I took another sip of my beer.“Yeah?”

Thomas flashed me a dazzling grin — it was the kind of smile that could make any chick within a five mile radius swoon.“I have a wager for you.”

Now _that_ piqued my interest.

Making bets with Thomas had been a bit of a habit for a while now.Among other things, he’d already challenged me to wear a Burger King Crown to a White Council meeting (done), enchant an army of pigeons to compulsively crap on cars and buildings belonging to the White Court (done) and, last but not least, call Murphy ‘honey bunch’ to her face.Now, _that_ one had been a close call — I’d just about got away with all my limbs intact.I’d challenged Thomas to do some equally dumb stuff, but my personal favourite was getting him to spend a week dressed up as me.Thomas had looked stunning as always (he’s the kind of guy who can wear a trash bag and look ready for the red carpet), but how much he obviously despised wearing my duster had made it all worthwhile. 

Yeah, the bets were stupid. But they were a _fun_ kind of stupid.The world would probably be a much nicer, happier place if people had a bit more of the stupid variety of fun in their lives.

Thomas went on.“Look, the task’s not easy, but going against the odds is one of your specialties. If you manage to pull it off, I’ll pay your beer tab for an entire year.”

My eyebrows rose.Now _that_ prize was a hell of a lot bigger than usual. Five bucks had, as of yet, been the going rate.“A year’s worth of beer?”

“A year’s worth of beer,” he repeated.“White Court Vampire, remember?It’ll be less than small change to Lara.”

I hesitated: if it looks too good to be true, it probably is. The offer was as tempting as it was suspicious.“And if I fail?”

Thomas’ eyes sparkled.“Then _I _get to give you a full Raith makeover.”I scoffed but he ignored me.“Look, man, your hair is a disaster and half of your wardrobe needs incinerating.A bit of my help could transform you from ‘shabby’ to ‘stallion’ in a day.”

“_Right._ You’re going to transform me into a ‘stallion’? Not weird at all, big brother, _not_ _weird_ _at_ _all_.” I smiled wryly.“The whole makeover idea is a bit teenage girl of you, but I guess I can go with it.What’s the bet?”

Eyes shining with mischief, Thomas leaned over to whisper in my ear.

“_Seduce Johnny Marcone._”

* * *

There are some moments in a man’s life that encourage reflection, moments that beg the question ‘what poor decisions have I made to end up in this horrific train wreck of a situation’?It’s the kind of thing a man asks himself on the way into court or after initiating a three car pile up. 

And I, about to sweet talk Chicago’s resident crime lord, found myself asking the same question.

The terms of the wager were as follows: I had two weeks to seduce John Marcone, the biggest, baddest mobster the city had to offer.The use of magic was strictly off limits (I couldn’t just whip up a love potion and roofie the bastard), but any other skills of seduction were fair game.

Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re thinking._Don’t you hate, Marcone, Harry?Why are you going to try and get into bed with a guy you spend most of your time bitching and moaning about?_

Don’t get me wrong, Marcone is a bastard, but he’s a _sexy_ bastard.Worst of all, the guy knows it. I won’t lie and say that certain... thoughts about the man had never crossed my mind.His audacity, his impenetrable aura of cool control, the way he wore his bazillion dollar business suits like a second skin: I wanted him.I wanted to break through the veneer of his coolness; I wanted him beneath me, urging me on with that infuriating mouth of his as he wrapped his legs around me and dug his fingernails into the skin of my back.

Heat curled in my belly and I glanced down at myself._Oh._I hadn’t quite realised I’d wanted him _that_ much. 

I sighed and waited for sound of blood pounding in my ears to subside. “Down, Harry, down,” I murmured.“Get your head in the game.Your _brain_ is what you need to use right now, not your dick.”

I picked up the phone in my apartment and dialled a number.After a few rings, the call connected to one of Marcone’s innumerable secretaries.

“Hi there, the name’s Harry Dresden,” I drawled, cutting through the secretary’s spiel.“You’ll have heard of me.After I end this call, you’re going to tell big, bad Marcone to call me back ASAP.He has my number.”

With that, I put the phone down.As they say, brevity is the soul of wit, and being a real douche sometimes can be fun.

It was time to wait. 

Ten minutes dragged by.I spent most of it lounging on the sofa pretending to read.Hell, I wasn’t even fooling myself and certainly not Mouse. My dog sat and stared at me with an expression that can only be described as an odd combination of pity and distaste.I threw a cushion at him.

Fifteen more laborious minutes passed.I frowned in irritation and tossed my book to one side: I hadn’t read a word anyway. Calling back the secretary and defining exactly what an angry wizard means when they say ‘ASAP’ was a tempting prospect.

And then the phone rang.

My first instinct was to answer immediately, but I restrained myself.That would look desperate, right?I waited a few agonising seconds, calmly walked over to it, and then picked up the receiver. _Play it cool, Harry, play it cool..._

“Harry Dresden speaking.”

Marcone’s tone was as icy as a frozen lake.“What do you want?”

I tried to fill my voice with as much warmth as possible.“_John_, it’s been a while.How _are_ you?”

There was a slight pause.Had I gone overkill?I suppose charm wasn’t exactly what he had come to expect from me... 

“How am I?” His voice was incredulous and more than a little frosty.“To be perfectly frank, I am far too busy to make small talk with the likes of you, Dresden.What do you want?”

Not a good start, but I could work with it.“Look, we need to meet up.I’ve got information for you.”

“I see,” he said.“How uncharacteristically generous of you.Unfortunately, however, _I_ do not need to meet with _you_.Like I said, I’m busy.”

Playing hard to get, eh?I decided to turn up the charm.“Come on, John, there’s always time for your favourite wizard in Chicago.”

“You’re the only wizard in Chicago,” he corrected, “and the answer’s still no.”

I frowned.This was not how I imagined this conversation playing out.It was time to go for the hard sell.“Look, we both know that you’ll meet with me,” I said, trying to sound sultry.“The only question is how much of a tease you’re going to be.”

There was another pause.

“Did you just call me a ‘tease’, Dresden?”

I couldn’t quite work out if he sounded pissed off or amused, but anything was an improvement from his ‘ice queen’ routine. 

“You heard me,” I said.“Look, I’ve got information, information you’ll want.Why don’t you play nice for once and let me give it to you?”

There were a few seconds of silence.

“Dresden?”

“Yeah?”

“I never play nice.”

And then the bastard hung up on me.

* * *

Molly glared down at me as I sat on the couch: I’d decided to call in the cavalry.

“Let me get this straight,” she said. “Because of a stupid bet with your brother, you need my help to seduce the biggest asshole the city has to offer?”

“When you put it like that, it does sound kind of dumb,” I said, feeling a little deflated, “but that is the general idea, yeah.”

Her eyes narrowed.“It doesn’t sound ‘kind of dumb’, Harry.It sounds _insane_.I thought you hated the guy.”

I shrugged and held out my hands, palm up.“_I know, I know,_” I said.“Look, are you going to help me or not?Because if you can’t help, then I’m going to have to go to Murphy — and I’m not sure I’d come out _alive_ after that conversation with her.”

Yeah, bringing Murphy into it was a dirty trick, but I needed Molly’s help.I’d seen the girl wrap men around her little finger with little to no effort!She had the skills that I needed, and I was willing to do what was necessary to get them.

Molly’s expression twisted into a frown.She looked at me for a long moment before sighing deeply.

“Well, I _am_ your apprentice,” she said.“I don’t think I’m allowed to let my teacher get vivisected by petite blondes with anger issues.”

I beamed at her.“And _that’s_ why I like you, grasshopper!”

She flopped down beside me on the couch; Mouse sidled over to have his ears scratched.“Okay,” she said, tone resigned.“What have you considered so far?”

I held up a finger.“Well, we could get Gard out of the way for a couple of weeks?Then, if I got Marcone to hire me as a bodyguard, I figure getting into his pants would be easy.”

Molly stared at me, expression frozen.“Harry, are you seriously telling me that you’ve considered ‘disappearing’ Sigrun Gard?The one you think is a freaking _Valkyrie_?”

I thought for a moment before answering.“Maybe?”

She rubbed at her temples with one hand.“You know, I think I’m actually glad you asked for my help.You wouldn’t be much of a teacher after getting decapitated.”

“Right,” I said, keen to move the conversation swiftly on. “And what would you suggest?”

Molly hesitated for a moment before responding.I could see a range of emotions flick across her features, but all of them were indecipherable to me.She eventually came to some sort of decision.

Her tone was suddenly smooth as silk and she looked me directly in the eyes.“Well, when I try to seduce a guy,” she purred, “I go about it like this.”

She stood gracefully and turned her back to me in one smooth movement. I watched, stunned, as she slipped an arm inside of her oversized t-shirt only to have it reappear moments later, a lacy black bra clutched in her hand.She held it out for a moment, letting me get a good look, before dropping it to the floor with a soft sound.She turned slowly, nipples clearly visible under the thin fabric of her shirt, a pink tongue darting out to lick at her lips.She ran her hands down her body to rest at the top of her jeans.She popped the top button open.

I gulped, mouth suddenly dry as a desert.“Err, _Molly—_” I began, but she shushed me and slunk over to press a finger against my lips. 

She leaned over the loose neck of her shirt gaping open to give ample opportunity to get a good look at her ‘assets’ (for the record, I didn’t) and her breath was hot against my ear.

“In my experience,” she breathed against me, “a direct approach is always best.”

_Gods, I could smell her perfume..._

“Molly?” I said, my voice sounding raspy even to my own ears.

“Yes, Harry?”

“Last time I checked, I’m a dude.Taking off my bra isn’t really an option.”

Molly made an exasperated sound — somewhere between a snort and a growl — and pulled back abruptly.She crossed her arms and glared down at me, expression thunderous.

“Look, clever-dick, if you want to seduce someone, you’ve got to give them a taste of what they’re missing.You’ve got to make them want you.”A complicated expression flashed over her features.“And as you’ve got the same level of innate charm as a brick — and an obnoxious brick at that — you’ll have to let your body do some of the talking.”

I began to laugh, absurdly relieved that Molly had given up her ‘sex kitten’ act.“Let my body do the talking?” I scoffed.“Grasshopper, this is _me_ we’re talking about.I don’t think I’ve got a whole lot to show off.”

There was another awkward silence.She glanced away for a moment, fingers gripping the fabric of her t-shirt tightly.

“I think you do,” she said quietly.

Well, that shut me up pretty quickly._Oh, crap... I’d thought we’d gotten past this..._

“Look, I’ll tell you what to wear and give you a few pointers,” she said, tone now crisp and businesslike.She did up her jeans and then picked her bra up from the floor.Once again, she turned away and did a few more gymnastics to get the thing back on.“Anything else is down to you.”

“Right,” I said.“That’s great.Thanks, Molly.I mean it.”

She smiled ruefully at me.“You can thank me a whole lot better by going and taking a shower.No one’s going to be tempted by you looking like you just crawled out of bed.”

I bristled, but didn’t rise to the bait.Hell, she was probably right.

I got to my feet. “You always know how to flatter me.”

Molly smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.It was out of place on her normally so sunny features.I suddenly felt more than a little guilty for asking for her help.

“Go shower, idiot,” she said, that odd half smile still tugging at her features.“But go get me a Coke first — I’ve got work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tah-dah! Please don’t think I’ve forgotten about the other fics I’ve got on the go (I haven’t), but this just had to be written. This was a whole lot of fun to write and I hope you enjoyed reading it.
> 
> I’m haven’t decided on the exact route this is going to take yet, but Harry should have some fairly ‘interesting’ experiences in store for him. ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading and, as always, any comments/kudos are very much appreciated!
> 
> Note: I’ve also had some weird formatting issues with the archive. Every time I’ve wanted to delete a paragraph break, it’s frozen the typing window and I’ve had to save and re-open it? If this continues to be an issue, I’ll simply post the next chapter as a separate but linked work.


	2. The Game’s Afoot, Watson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which our hero experiences wardrobe regret, discovers Mouse’s hidden depths and has a mysterious encounter.

“To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance.”Oscar Wilde

* * *

Thomas sat back on the couch and eyed me speculatively.Mouse affectionately head-butted his knee in the hope of a scratch behind the ears. 

“You know,” my brother began, giving Mouse the desired attention, “wouldn’t sending Marcone a dick-pick be a hell of a lot easier?”

I pulled a face at him over my shoulder and returned to the couch with two cold cans of Coke.I handed one to him and then opened my own.“I am _not_ sending Johnny Marcone a dick-pick.”

Thomas looked sceptical.“Why not?It normally works for me.”

“Gross,” I said, trying to clear my mind of any mental images Thomas had delightfully put there.“My methods in the art of seduction are far more subtle than sending close-ups of my junk.And I’m a wizard, remember?The camera would probably explode as soon as I undid my jeans.”

“Okay, okay.Just thought you might want a bit of advice from big brother,” Thomas said, taking a sip of his Coke.He paused and looked around the apartment.“Anyway, what’s with all the pizza boxes?That’s a lot of takeout, even for you.”

So, Thomas had swung by to get an update on ‘Operation Marcone’.It was a crisp, clear day, bright sunlight streaming in through my apartment’s windows, streaming in to illuminate... pizza boxes.A lot of them.

I’m not going to drag out a long description of my apartment (rugs, books, Mister and Mouse yada yada yada...) but — as Thomas had mentioned — there were a hell of a lot of empty take-out boxes in it at the moment.They were balanced precariously on every available surface, the kitchen counters having been overwhelmed, and some of them had even made their way onto the floor.I’d meant to take them out last night, but got caught up in the book I was reading and forgot to. 

“Oh, those?” I said, surveying the armada of empty boxes with something close to pride.“It’s nothing.I just needed a bit of help with something.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow.“You needed a bit of help?” he repeated slowly, tone incredulous.“And how exactly is all this pizza going to help you with anything, little brother?”

I took a sip of my drink and smiled smugly to myself.“Wizard secret.”

* * *

“Y’know, I’m starting to think that sending Marcone a dirty picture might actually have been the better option.”

Mouse looked up at me with reproach.Despite the fact he was a dog and therefore couldn’t talk, he was still able to communicate ‘you’re an idiot, Harry’ with perfect clarity.

I looked away, unable to hold his accusing stare.

So, do I hear you ask what Mouse and myself were doing?Well, at that precise moment we were loitering outside of the house of none other than Gentleman Johnny Marcone.Well, I say ‘house’, but the word doesn’t really do the structure justice.I suppose ‘fortress’ would probably be a better fit for the Marcone residence.It had been a few years since my last visit (remember all the fun I had with the loup-garou?), but the high walls and solid metal gate didn’t look any less imposing than last time. 

We’d been there for a grand total of around ten minutes and I was already beginning to regret my impulsive decision to pay the man a visit.I’d tried to announce my arrival via the small intercom system parallel to the gate, but the thing had made a distressing fizzing sound before shorting out.Unable to make my presence known, I waited, confident in the knowledge that someone would soon be along to see why half the building’s security system had suddenly died.Waiting, however, was boring.More to the point, waiting was currently abso-fucking-lutely freezing.

I shivered and tried to blow warmth into my hands, wishing I had the reassuring weight and warmth of my leather duster around me.Molly — true to her word — had done all that she could to help me in my endeavour to conquer Marcone.Her assistance had even strayed into the Harry Dresden wardrobe department; it was thanks to her that I was currently dying a slow death due to hypothermia.The day had been deceptively sunny when I’d set out, but I’d since discovered it was cold as a bitch.I was beginning to look at Mouse’s thick fur coat with envy.

And why was I loitering outside Johnny Marcone’s house?Well, following Molly’s advice, I’d decided it was high time for a more direct approach.Namely — to further my seduction — I was using Mouse as a prop.

Let me explain my logic: everyone loves dogs, right?See a person in possession of a cute dog, and the owner automatically becomes more appealing by osmosis.Mouse — despite having the same approximate body mass as a prize-fighting-bull —was undeniably fluffy.He had big eyes, a wet nose and (as long as he didn’t show off his teeth) he had the undeniable ability to melt the hearts of one and all.Hey, maybe Marcone was a dog person?I was optimistic that a bit of the ‘waggy tail treatment’ would be able to thaw some of the other man’s iciness.

A few more minutes crawled by.Just when I was confident in the belief that I was going to lose a couple of fingers to frostbite, the heavy gates of Marcone’s residence swung open. 

An irate Nathan Hendricks stomped into view and I eyed his warm coat (that looked about ready to burst at the seams) with longing.He was followed closely by Sigrun Gard and then none other than Gentleman Johnny Marcone himself.

I moved forward with what I hoped was a charming smile and Mouse followed behind at a somewhat slower pace.“Marcone, what a coincidence!”

Marcone’s expression was stony.“This is my house, Dresden.As I live here, my presence is not in the least surprising.Your appearance, however, is.”There was a slight pause in which the ominous sound of Hendricks cracking his knuckles was clearly audible.His voice took on a somewhat sharp edge.“I am told five of my security cameras —as well as the entire intercom system — have stopped working.”

The smile faltered.Suavity is quite hard to sustain while you’ve got a seemingly enraged red-head staring daggers at you over his boss’s shoulder...“Well, you know me and technology, John.We get on about as well as..._ as..._”

My sentence tapered off into nothing.Marcone was starting at me intently.Very intently.It was the kind of look that would make even Thomas self-conscious.

He narrowed his money coloured eyes.“Your clothes, Dresden.”

I looked down at myself and then back up at him.“What about them?”

Marcone looked me up and down slowly, taking in all six-foot-and-then-some of the Harry Dresden frame.I felt a sudden wave of gratitude for the cold: without it, I would almost certainly have been blushing. 

“There is... considerably less of them than normal,” he said finally.“I know you revel in your poverty, but surely even you can afford to dress yourself?” 

There was the displeasing gurgle of Hendricks’ laughter in the background.I felt the tips of my ears grow warm. 

Remember Molly’s promise to give me tips in seduction?Well, part of the package was ‘sexing up’ my wardrobe.As a starting point, she’d taken a pair of scissors to some of my jeans and dug out one of my t-shirts that had shrunk in the wash and I’d never quite had the heart to throw out.To cut a long story short, I was wearing a tight black t-shirt and jeans with enough holes in them to cause an uncomfortable draft.I suppose you could call it ‘sexy’, but right now I’d just call it ‘cold’.Not for the first time, I felt a sudden wave of longing for my duster.

“I’m just trying out a new look,” I said and tried to dredge up a winning smile.“What do you think?”

Marcone gave me another of those long, slow looks.“No comment.”

Huh.It wasn’t a compliment, but you couldn’t call it an insult either.In the spirit of optimism, I decided to take it as a tentative win. 

Now that I’d undoubtedly got Marcone’s attention — and unfortunately that of Hendricks and Gard — it was time to bring out the big guns: it was time for Mouse to work his canine magic.

“Look, I was just in the neighbourhood taking my dog out for a walk.”I turned to Mouse, buoyed by the prospect of imminent success.“Mouse, why don’t you say ‘hi’ to nice Mister—”

I didn’t get the chance to finish my sentence because of a low rumbling — not unlike the roar of a jet engine starting up — that had begun to emit from my dog.

In an ideal world, Mouse would have trotted forward obediently and presented Marcone with his paw.Maybe he would have allowed his ears to be scratched or even licked affectionately at the man’s hand — an action sure to warm any crime lord’s heart.Alas, however, this was not an ideal world.

Mouse had started to growl. 

Normal dogs growl, but Mouse was no normal dog.The sound he was making had the rumble of distant thunder with a side order of gravel; it was loaded with the promise of imminent violence that would cause even the most steely of veterans to run for cover.Rather than padding over to Marcone, Mouse stayed exactly where he was and snarled at the man, muzzle curled back in a vicious snarl that revealed pearly rows of sharp teeth.His hackles were up — making the already large dog seem even more immense — and he looked just about ready to leap forward and gnaw off one or two limbs.

A moment passed.Mouse stared at Marcone.Marcone, Hendricks and I all stared at Mouse.Gard, meanwhile, was looking at the sky as though bored by the whole procedure.

Finally, Marcone dragged his attention away from the snarling dog and re-directed it to me.His expression was a well-crafted blank that still somehow spoke volumes, none of it flattering.Behind him, I saw Hendricks slide a hand in his jacket to undoubtedly to clutch at a concealed weapon.

Resisting the urge to give the treacherous canine a good shove, I tried to laugh it off.“Oh, he’s just shy.All bark and no bite, right Mouse?”In response to my words, the dog’s snarls increased notably in both volume and menace. _All ‘bark’ indeed..._I now had to nearly shout to be heard over the low rumble. “Anyway, I was just wondering if you wanted to go and grab a coffee?”

Marcone frowned and said something, but I couldn’t make it out over Mouse’s growls.Lip-reading, sadly, was not among my many talents.

I increased my volume and tried again.“COFFEE,”I yelled, exaggeratedly miming sipping a hot drink.“YOU WANT TO GO AND GET SOME?I KNOW A NICE PLACE!”

Half way through my last sentence, Mouse’s snarling suddenly stopped.Perhaps he’d decided that I was quite capable of ruining the situation independently and no longer needed his assistance?Anyway, unable to adjust my volume quite quickly enough, my bellowed words of ‘a nice place’ echoed unpleasantly around the now very quiet street.I don’t think I’ve ever quite felt so tempted by the prospect of strangling myself with Mouse’s leash...

And what did Marcone do?Well, he just gave me another long, hard stare with those green eyes that made me want turn myself inside out.Hendricks had gone so red that he had the displeasing appearance of a beetroot dressed up in an oversized suit.I’d never seen someone so close to spontaneously combusting.Gard, in contrast, was as unmoved as ever.She had the expression you might expect to find on a teenager being forced to watch a particularly boring game of chess.

In the subsequent silence, Marcone was the one to speak first.

“Mr Hendricks, Ms Gard,” although his words weren’t addressed to me, his eyes were locked on mine as he spoke, “please ensure that Mr Dresden leaves the vicinity before he or his pet bear can cause any further damage.”A pause.“Feel free to use whatever force you deem necessary.”

The scores? Mouse, one. Harry Dresden, nil.

* * *

In life, I buy into the whole ‘when life gives you lemons, squeeze them into the eyes of your enemies’ approach.This was mainly because I spent most of my life precariously sat on top of an entire mountain of lemons, but I do like to think of myself as an optimist.Yeah, my visit to ‘maison Marcone’ hadn’t gone quite as planned, but that I had plenty of other ideas under my belt.All I had to do now was sit back and let my next strategy of seduction do its work...

A week passed.I did some odd jobs — some for the White Council, some for clients — watched TV, did some reading.All in all, it was as calm a week as they come for Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden.

That is, until I had a heavy knock on my apartment door.

Now, I like my front door.It’s a good door.It’s reinforced steel that someone with a battering ram would have a hard job breaking down.The fact that someone was hammering on it as if intent on doing that very thing was somewhat concerning. 

I grabbed my blasting rod, checked my wards —_ all fine_ — and went to see who it was.

To my disappointment, it was none other than Hendricks.He loomed in my doorway like a vengeful spirit and looked like he would have liked very much to continue hitting me rather than my door.Gard was stood a few steps back, expression blank.Interestingly, there was no sign of Marcone...

“Cujo!” I beamed at the guy just to piss him off. “I would say that this is a pleasant surprise, but then I would be lying.Why are you here?”

The man glared at me with his beady eyes.“I know it’s you, wizard.”The word ‘wizard’ obviously isn’t a swear word, but he said it as if it was.

I arranged my face into a picture of perfect innocence.“Oh?” I said, feigning ignorance. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Cujo’s glare contained such heat that it could have melted my head.Perhaps I’d laid it on a bit thick...

“I know it’s you, Dresden,” he growled, looking about one inch away from violence.“If you don’t stop all this crap, then there will be _consequences_.”

I blinked, surprised that Hendricks had such capability for speech. Had I ever heard the guy talk so much?

Now, you may be wondering what had gotten Cujo in such a flutter.It was most likely my latest ‘seduce Johnny Marcone’ approach.With the generous application of pizza, I’d been able to enlist TootToot and his gang to the cause.I’d asked him to bring a little more ‘sparkle’ into Marcone’s life.You know, all that romantic crap: flowers, chocolate, romantic messages...I thought it was a clever way to continue my assault on Marcone’s defences without risking life and limb.

I decided to drop the act.“Look, Cujo, if Marcone’s got a problem with anything, he can tell me himself.I don’t need you coming round and cluttering up my front yard.”

Hendricks continued to glare at me._If looks could kill..._When he next spoke, it was just one word.

“A tree,” he said.

Now, that threw me.“What?”

“An entire tree was left in Mr Marcone’s office yesterday,” Hendricks said, each syllable dripping venom.“There was a bird in it.”

“It was quite an angry bird,” chipped in Gard from the background.“It had chicks.”

I had a sudden sinking feeling._Oh no..._

“And that was just yesterday,” Hendricks went on.“The day before there was a whole litter of fox cubs.Now we’re having trouble arranging transport.”

I was experiencing a giddy mix of horror, admiration and curiosity.Foxes?_An entire tree?_Just how many faeries would it have taken to carry that..?

“Erm, why are you having trouble with transport?” I found myself asking, not entirely sure I wanted the answer.

Hendricks tried to speak but seemed too angry to say anything legible, so Gard stepped in.“It’s the flowers,” she said, patting Hendricks’ shoulder reassuringly.“We’re having to clear them off constantly.We can’t identify exactly when it happens, but someone is decorating Mr Marcone’s cars.” 

“And there’s always a slice of pizza in the exhaust...” Hendricks growled, expression murderous.

“That too,” said Gard.“We’ve tried tried swapping cars—”

“—setting up surveillance, putting them in the garage, renting a new one—” Hendricks added.

“—but it happens too quickly for us to stop,” she finished.“Marcone can’t use a car with the words ‘love you, honey’ written on it in flowers, and the cause is almost certainly magical.”

“_Which is why we’re here_,” rumbled Hendricks. 

As you can imagine, it was at this juncture that I was beginning to doubt as to whether enlisting TootToot’s help had been a wise decision.At the end of the day, he is only a fairy.Brave and loyal though he may be, being that small left him with limited space for brain matter.I suppose my instructions to ‘romance’ Marcone had been beyond him.It was a shame as I’d got the impression that everything had been going brilliantly from the little guy’s reports.

Hendricks took a menacing step forward and I wouldn’t have been surprised if he burst out of his suit ‘Hulk-style’.“The boss is too easy on you, so I’m telling you you stop with the weird shit,” he snarled, words dripping with malice. “There’ll be _consequences_ if you don’t.”

With those parting words, he turned on his heel and stomped off to the black SUV parked outside.Mercifully, it was not covered in flowers.

Gard, however, lingered.

“He smiled, you know,” she said, tone thoughtful.

Surprised, I looked at her.“What?”

“Mr Marcone, it made him smile.”

Now, that was _interesting_.I decided not to ask whether the ‘it’ in question was his flower power car, the tree or the fox cubs.Some things are better left a mystery.

“Oh,” I said, feeling suddenly self-conscious.“Thanks for letting me know.”

There was an awkward silence.Gard has this uncomfortable habit of looking at you a little too closely with that clear blue gaze of hers.“Do you have plans tomorrow?”

I hesitated for a moment. That wasn’t a question I was used to being asked by attractive women.

“_Err,_ why?” I asked, evading the question.

Gard turned to leave.“You should go to The Madison’s restaurant for dinner,” she said to me over her shoulder.“I think you’ll like the food.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving me with a whole lot of questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all honesty, this was SO MUCH FUN to write. I’m a huge fan of PG Wodehouse’s writing (reading Jeeves and Wooster is a semi-religious experience), and I wanted to channel the same spirit of silliness into this. 
> 
> Again, thanks or any comments and kudos you are kind enough to leave. Also, if you notice me getting any ‘Americanisms’ slightly wrong, please let me know. I do Google the odd thing, but please shoot me a message if anything sounds a bit clunky. 
> 
> As always, thanks for any comments and kudos you’re kind enough to leave!


	3. Leap Before You Look

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our hero experiences an ideal opportunity for failure, a ride into the unknown and unconventional uses of fire magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a while, so I would recommend revisiting the previous chapters before reading. It’s not that the plot is insane or anything, but there are a few of references that will be best appreciated with what’s happened before fresh in your mind. 
> 
> With that out of the way, on with the show!

“Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much.” Oscar Wilde

* * *

Have you ever wondered whether you should trust a Valkyrie? I guess you probably haven’t, but I’ll give you some advice just in case. Don’t. Trust me, I speak from experience. 

Remember Gard’s whole ‘he smiled’ thing? Her ‘why don’t you go to The Madison, it’ll be fun’ suggestion? Well, my belief that Blondie was helping me out showed just how naive I was. I had the (mistaken) impression that — after the preliminary work by TootToot — jumping Marcone’s bones was now going to be a relatively easy ride. I thought that I would waltz into The Madison, sweep Marcone off his feet and promptly into bed. I should have known better. Think about it like this: last time I checked, my name was still ‘Harry Dresden’. For Harry Dresden, if something looks like it’s going to be a walk in the park, you can guarantee that it is not actually going to be a walk in the park at all. Instead, I’m probably about to unwittingly dive headfirst into a pit of poisonous snakes. To be more realistic, probably a pit of magically enhanced poisonous snakes on steroids.

The moral of the story? If things look too good to be true, they probably are. And nothing is ever simple when it comes to the likes of Gentleman Johnny Marcone...

* * *

The Madison Hotel’s restaurant was pretty much the polar opposite of McAnally’s. Everything gleamed in the place: chandeliers glimmered from high ceilings and the walls were lined with tall mirrors that reflected the light. I’d been loitering at the bar for around fifteen minutes. My drink (a Coke) was now lukewarm and I sipped at it pensively as I watched the entrance. The bartender had given me a look when I ordered, but I didn’t think my wallet could handle any of the fancier drinks on offer. Anyway, I like Coke. All these fancy-schmancy drinks they had going wouldn’t be a scratch on a beer from Mac’s anyway.

I must have been looking pretty good, because I sure was attracting stares from the clientele. Maybe these up-market folks were impressed with my duster? I’d ditched Molly’s fashion advice (that now had painful memories) for a classic ‘Harry Dresden’ look that — judging by how people couldn’t seem to keep their eyes off me — seemed to be a winner. I was even having an effect on the staff. Two waiters had been casting glances at me for a while now, occasionally sharing a conspiratorial whisper. What can I say? Harry Dresden: fashion icon.

Just when I was about to resign myself to fate and order another overpriced drink, Marcone finally appeared. Cujo or Blondie were nowhere to be seen: the man had come alone. Interesting. Marcone _belonged_ in a place as fancy as The Madison. With his immaculate appearance and expertly tailored suit, he looked like an old world film star about to start a shoot. Upon seeing him, a sudden wave of warmth washed over me and I took a hasty sip of my drink. _Weird._

Like any man who knows he has enemies, Marcone scanned the room upon entering. His gaze flicked to the bar and then rested on me. If he was surprised to see me, he hid it well. There was a flicker of recognition and an eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch.

I took my cue and walked over to him. “John, what a coincidence!”

“Dresden,” he said, eyeing me with obvious suspicion. “How did you know I would be here?”

I gave him a lopsided smile that I hoped was both rakish and appealing. From Marcone’s stony expression, I assume I achieved neither. “Oh you know me, John, I never give away my sources.”

He snorted and was about to say something else, but a waiter scurried over to us. He was one of the pair that had been giving me the eye since I arrived. “Mr Marcone,” he crooned in a simpering voice that made my skin crawl. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but is this man bothering you?” When he said ‘this man’ — meaning yours truly — he took on the tone you might use when saying ‘cockroach’ or ‘slug’.

I scowled, ready to tell him exactly how much bother ‘this man’ could cause, but Marcone got in there first.

Marcone’s look was so frosty, the waiter withered where he stood. “Mr Dresden happens to be my guest for the evening,” he said, voice icy. “Have my table ready for two.”

“O-of course, sir. So- so sorry, sir.” The poor guy nearly stumbled over himself in his haste to get away.

I leaned over to Marcone. “I’m your guest for the evening?”

He gave a little sigh. “So it would seem.”

Marcone’s table was tucked away from the hustle-and-bustle of the main restaurant in a secluded alcove. I couldn’t believe my luck. Not only did I have the man sans Cujo and Blondie, but this was practically a dinner date. It was one step for operation ‘seduce Johnny Marcone’, and one giant leap towards getting Thomas to pay my bar tab for an entire year. Winning!

Before we get into the ‘what happened next’ of the whole situation, let’s get one thing straight: it’s much nicer eating food yourself than watching other people do it. Take a burger for example. Everyone likes burgers, right? And eating a burger, although it can sometimes get a little messy, is thoroughly enjoyable — right up there with drinking beer. However, _watching_ someone eat a burger is a different story. It’s not a sport designed with spectators in mind. And although our table manners were impeccable, don’t think I’m going to give you a blow by blow account of every bite. You’ve got an imagination, fill in the blanks. Although The Madison can certainly serve up a mean steak, I’m not going to bore you with all the details. 

Anyway, during our ‘dinner date’ I was began to have the sinking suspicion that Gard had led me here under false pretences. From her whole ‘he smiled’ gig, I’d been working with the impression that my romance-fu (care of TootToot) had got Gentleman Johnny all weak at the knees. 

This, it seems, was not actually the case.

You might already be aware of this, but it turns out that there are actually many types of smile. I’d imagined Marcone gazing fondly at his flower covered car — or maybe the fox cubs as they destroyed his office — with a rueful sort of ‘_oh that Harry_’ expression. His smile would have been a gentle quirk of the lips, revealing the man’s true affection for yours truly that he normally concealed so well.

However, I was now coming to the conclusion that Marcone’s smile must have been of a different variety, probably the ‘Harry Dresden will die’ kind. With my experience as a private detective, I’m pretty good at putting two and two together. And a lot of our over dinner conversation was made up of some very pointed comments about vandalism to his property, particularly his cars and office, and how some fox cubs — who had recently taken up residence in his personal gardens — appeared to have an astounding talent for chewing through electric cables and getting into the trash. I tried to arrange my face into something like innocence, but I don’t think he bought it.

Once Marcone seemed to have had his fill of passive aggression and the plates had been cleared away, he sat back in his chair and eyed me speculatively. “What are you up to, Dresden?”

I took a hasty sip of my drink. “I’ve got no idea what you mean.”

Those pale green eyes of his narrowed slightly. “In my experience, you only seek me out for one of two reasons: either you want something, or you’re looking to start a fight.”

“Come on, John. I—” I tried to protest, but he continued smoothly.

“As you don’t seem to be about to try to attack me — although the same was certainly not true of your dog — I can only assume that you want something.” He steepled his hands. “What is it?”

I had to hand it to the man, I don’t think I’d ever met anyone who managed to be so intimidating and so sexy at the same time. 

I decided it was time for a more direct approach.

I leaned forward, lowering my voice into something husky and smooth. “What do I want? Well, what I _really_ want,” I said, locking my eyes onto his, “is you.”

You know, with a killer line like that, I was fairly confident of a) Marcone swooning into my ready embrace, and b) happily collecting my winnings from Thomas the next day. 

Alas, pride cometh before a fall. 

Rather than swooning, Marcone gave that mirthless little laugh of his. He flashed white teeth at me, but the smile was more shark like than strictly comfortable. “Everyone wants something from me, Dresden,” he said. “You’re going to need to be more specific than that.”

I had the unpleasant suspicion that I was being laughed at, but managed to stay suave. _You’ve got this, Harry!_ “Oh, I think you know exactly what I want,” I said. “And I don’t think you’re the kind of man who needs things spelled out to you.”

“Oh?” He leaned forward, voice low and smooth. “By all means, Dresden, _spell it out for me_.”

Time to bring out the big guns.

Feeling like a man about to pet a king cobra, I reached out a hand to clasp his own in mine. 

“I want you, John. I don’t want you as a mob boss or as ‘Gentleman Johnny’, I want you as a man,” I said and — to my surprise — I meant it. “I want to show you exactly what we could have together. I want to take you to bed, and — if you want me to be any more specific than that — you’re going to need to book a hotel room.”

He nodded slowly, expression thoughtful. “I see.”

“So,” I went on, holding his hand a little tighter, “what do you think?”

“What do I think?” His eyes narrowed and, when he spoke, each word was cold, carefully clipped and heavy with finality. “I think you are taking me for a fool, Mr Dresden.”

I gawped at him. That was _not_ what I’d expected. “Huh?”

With brisk movements, Marcone extracted his hand from mine and took out his wallet from an inside pocket. He pulled out some bills and threw them down on the table. “Forgive my scepticism,” he said, “but you have spent most of the time we’ve known each other either threatening to kill me, or making it perfectly clear just how much you despise me. I cannot help but view your recent advances with more than a little suspicion. Now, if you will excuse me, I have things to do.” 

And with that parting shot, the bastard stood up, walked off and left me in the dust.

If there was ever a good time to give up, this was it. Hell, this was a giant flashing neon-lit sign telling me to give up. John had made himself more than perfectly clear on the ‘make-out with Harry Dresden’ subject, and no one could blame me for bowing out now, could they? It’s not like I wanted to stalk the man.

_But..._

Marcone clearly thought I hated him. Hell, he probably thought my attempts at romance so far were an elaborate strategy to mess with him. Yeah, Marcone could be an infuriating bastard at times, but did I truly hate him? Could I feel such desire for someone I despised? No, I couldn’t.

And that’s why I went stumbling after him, ignoring the curious stares of the other diners.

“Hey, John! Wait up!”

By the time I got to Marcone, he was already outside the front of the hotel. Hendricks was waiting with the car. (No flowers, no pizza — that was good.) The red-head scowled when he saw me, but kept any opinions about my sudden appearance to himself.

Marcone turned to face me. “I believe I just told you that I had things to do, Dresden.”

“Gods,” I panted, “can’t anything be easy with you?”

The answer, apparently, was a resounding ‘no’. Marcone said nothing and just stood there, staring at me coldly.

“Look, I— I—” _Hell’s_ _bells, this was embarrassing._ “I don’t hate you, okay?”

The man rose an eyebrow at that, but remained silent. I felt a blush creeping its way up my neck. Matters weren’t helped by the fact that Cujo was now glaring at me with such intensity that — if he was a wizard — I was pretty sure my head would be on fire by now. 

I ran a hand over my face. “I— I know I’ve trash talked you in the past — hell, I trash talk _everyone_ — but I don’t hate you, alright? And I don’t think I ever have, not really.” Gods, honesty was excruciating. The streetlights flickered in response to my mortification and concerned hotel staff peered out of the front windows. “_Please_, John. Just give me a chance. Please.”

Please: the magic word. I nearly sighed in relief when Marcone’s expression softened into something that looked almost amused. He moved closer, so close that what he next said was audible only to me.

He looked up at me with those eyes the colour of faded dollar bills. “Are you trying to say sorry, Harry?”

I gulped. Had I ever really wanted someone as much as I wanted him right then? “Yeah,” I said, mouth dry. “I think I am.”

He laughed at that, and — for once — it sounded genuine. He took a step back. “As I don’t feel that destroying the electrics of the entire street would be productive, I think we should move this conversation to somewhere more... _private_.” He turned to a murderous looking Hendricks. “Mr Hendricks, drive Mr Dresden and I to the nearest of our usual locations.” He flashed those white teeth at me, and I was suddenly somewhere between being entranced and scared shitless. “We have business to discuss.”

* * *

Taking a mystery ride with Marcone was an interesting experience, although not one I think I’d like to repeat. On the one hand, going ‘somewhere more private’ could prove to be an excellent opportunity for me to get down and dirty with the guy. On the other hand, a more secluded spot would be an ideal location for Marcone to try and have me disappeared. Yeah, pining after the city’s resident crime lord had a lot more baggage than mooning over the girl next door.

It also turned out that by ‘somewhere more private’, Marcone had actually meant an abandoned warehouse. Sexy, I think not.

The place was eerily familiar to me, but I couldn’t initially place it. When it did come to me, it was with an unpleasant jolt. The White Council had used the warehouse for an execution a few years back. But of course Marcone couldn’t have known that, could he?

Anyway, Cujo conducted some preliminary checks of the building before giving us the all clear. Marcone told him to stay with the car, meaning that I was about to enter the spooky abandoned building alone with John.

_Gulp._

Cool streaks of moonlight filtered in through broken windows; the place was completely deserted. There were no broken bottles, no graffiti: it was just just empty. I made a conscious effort not to examine the floor too closely as we walked further into the building. You know, any unpleasant stains might just go and spoil the mood...

Upon reaching the centre of the structure, Marcone stopped. “Mr Hendricks shouldn’t be able to hear anything from this distance,” he said and turned on his heel to face me. “You have ten minutes to impress me, Dresden. Strip.”

A stunned moment passed. _Had Marcone just—?_ No, I must have heard him wrong.

“Er, what?” I said, feeling much like someone swimming in the ocean who’s just noticed a dorsal fin moving rapidly closer. 

Marcone smiled with apparent sincerity; watching me squirm seemed to please the man to no end. “I said ‘strip’, Dresden. You told me that you want me, and you must be aware by now that I never enter into a business venture without being in possession of all the facts.”

I could practically hear the music from Jaws. “_Right_,” I said. “I’m not sure how much experience you’ve got, but you do realise that this isn’t how you normally go about getting laid?”

His smile never faltered. “This is us, Dresden. Normal rules don’t apply.”

“O—okay. But you do know that it’s pretty cold in here, right?” 

Marcone raised an eyebrow. “Your point being?”

I don’t know whether you’ve realised this about me yet, but I’ve actually got a bit of an issue with being told what to do. I normally hide it well, I know, but Marcone was enjoying having me at a disadvantage slightly too much for my pride not to sit up and take notice. And my pride was telling me that if Marcone thought he had me on the retreat, he had another thing coming...

Time to get serious.

I called upon my will, felt it build within me and breathed, “Fuego.” 

I summoned fire, and it sparked up around us, encircling us both. It needed no fuel but my magic and — in the flickering glow of the light it cast — I saw Marcone’s eyes widen. _ He liked it._

The warmth of the dancing flames washing over me, I slipped out of my leather duster and let it drop to the floor. Keeping my eyes locked on Marcone, I took a step closer. Slowly, very slowly, I moved a hand to the hem of my shirt and pulled it up and over my head. I let it fall to join my duster on the floor.

“So, I’ve got ten minutes to impress you?” I was surprised by how rough my voice sounded.

Marcone, not an easy man to intimidate, gave me a long, slow look. He took in the lines of muscle on my chest, letting me watch him gaze at my body so openly. “More like eight minutes now,” he said, and then moved closer to whisper against me. “Keep going, Harry.”

_Hell’s bells, have I ever wanted someone so much as him?_

With deliberate slowness, I popped the top button of my jeans before leisurely drawing down the zip. Marcone was so close that I could hear his breath hitch at the action. I liked that. I liked that _a lot_. But I couldn’t lose control, not yet. 

I reached out and pulled the man hard against my chest. He tensed for a moment before relaxing into my grip. The scent of him, the scent of his hair — it was a giddy mix of money and gunmetal. I don’t think I’d ever smelt anything so good in my life. Acting on instinct, I placed a kiss against his ear before slowly drawing the lobe into my mouth. He gasped at that, and the sound of it went right through me.

I pulled back and murmured, “If you want any more of a show, John, I’m going to have to charge.”

With that, Marcone was suddenly on me, pressing his mouth hard against my own. Gods, it felt like I’d been waiting my entire life for this. Shivers of electricity shot through me. His lips on mine, his tongue, the taste of him: the fire I had summoned blazed bright in response to my passion.

As if sensing my desire, Marcone slipped a hand into the front of my jeans. I gasped, pulse loud in my ears. The touch of him against me, palming me through the fabric of my boxers was an assault of pleasure that I wasn’t quite ready for.

Pulling back from the biting kiss, Marcone turned his attention to my neck. The sensation of his teeth at my throat and the tantalising touch of his hand on my cock was too much: I was lost to him.

Once satisfied that he had left a mark at the nape of my neck — marked me as his — he pulled back slightly. “Do you know why I was at The Madison tonight, Harry?” 

I gasped and shook my head, biting back a moan when he moved to slip his hand into my boxers: skin on skin. _How could the man still speak in complete sentences?_

“It was to mark an anniversary,” he said, and those pale green eyes burned into mine. “You remember Tommy Tomm, don’t you?”

It took me a moment to process what he’d said but — _oh God_ — I did remember Tommy Tomm. He was Marcone’s former associate who’d been killed by Victor Sells, killed by Victor Sells in The Madison Hotel. I tried to push back the grim images Tommy Tomm’s name conjured up, instead trying to focus on the sweet sensation of Marcone’s touch.

The grip on my cock tightened, and he blissfully drew his hand up and down slowly as he spoke. “Today — on the anniversary of his death — I go to the hotel he died in as a reminder to myself. A reminder that I need to take good care of my people.” He paused for a moment and I was held in delicious agony: I was that close. “It was quite the coincidence to meet you there tonight.” 

“Why?” I managed to gasp out. “Why was it a coincidence?”

Marcone breathed out a laugh and pressed his forehead against mine. “Happy anniversary, Harry. The day Tommy Tomm died was the day we first met.” 

My eyes widened with shock but, before I could say anything, Marcone suddenly pulled away from me. The loss of his touch was torture itself — it was cruel to leave me like this — but he pressed a finger against my lips to silence any protests.

“Your ten minutes are up.”

Yep, the man the most infuriatingly sexy _bastard_ on the planet.

Trying to recover what was left of my dignity, I drew myself up and tried to calm my racing heart, breathing hard through my nose. Hells bells, I must look like a wreck. Marcone, on the other hand, was as immaculate as always.

He eyed me thoughtfully. “You know, Harry, I think I want to give you a job.”

Despite my current state of discomposure, that instantly set off alarm bells. _Oh no..._

I did up my jeans — a difficult task considering my current state — then picked up my shirt from the floor and pulled it on. “Is this really the time to talk business?”

That earned a humourless laugh. “Oh? I thought you were serious about me.”

“Look, if you think I’m going to start peddling—”

Marcone cut me off. “Of course I wouldn’t be so crass as to ask you to do something that you would so obviously find objectionable.” He moved forward to brush some specks of dust from the front of my shirt; his palms against my chest sent a wave of heat through me. “I can think of a role that would suit you perfectly. It would be on a temporary basis, of course — just a few days, really — but it would go a long way in proving your intentions towards me.”

I sighed. After what had just happened — _what had nearly just happened_ — I was too tired to argue with the guy. “What the hell, sure,” I said, pushing back the feeling that I would regret this later. “What do you want me to do?”

Marcone smiled and his eyes were unusually bright. He pulled a business card from his inside pocket and handed it to me. “This is where you will be working. You start at 7:00pm tomorrow.”

I took the card from him. It was the expensive kind, all fancy silver embossed lettering.

My mouth went dry when I read it. The words ‘Executive Priority’ were printed in large letters across the top of the card. 

I’d just signed up to work in Gentleman Johnny Marcone’s brothel. Perhaps I’d need to change my advert in the phone book?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahaha, I loved writing this! I mean, I LOVED writing this! Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos so far. In all honesty, it gives me the boost to spend the day tapping frantically away at my keyboard.
> 
> In other news, HOW GOOD WAS THE NEW DRESDEN FILES BOOK? I freaking loved it and am waiting with baited breath for the next instalment. In other, other news, I read somewhere that the colon is normally followed by a capital letter in American English? As I couldn’t bring myself to edit every use (I love the colon), I’ve just left things as is. 
> 
> As always, a big thank you to the lovely folks kind enough to leave comments or kudos. You guys are the best.


End file.
